One Week And Then Some
by Liete
Summary: -US/UK- In which America and England demonstrate how not to handle a fight in a committed relationship. -DISCONTINUED-
1. Step One: Laugh At a Former Pirate

**One Week (And Then Some)**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.  
**

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**Day One**

There are some days where you wake up and just know it's going to be an amazing day. You wake up rejuvenated, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, your breakfast is delicious, and there's a smile on your face and a song in your heart. America knew it was going to be one of such amazing days the moment his alarm went off and he jumped out of bed to stretch.

"Good morning, starshine! The earth says hello!" he shouted out his window, and the birds seemed to join in chorus as he danced out of his room and down the stairs towards his kitchen. "Tooby ooby walla, nooby abba nabba, early morning singing song!"

He quickly threw together a perfect breakfast combination of eggs, bacon, toast with strawberry jelly, and a glass of orange juice and thought about what he should do with such an awesome day.

The weather was perfect for baseball, or perhaps football. Or since it was bound to be a productive day, maybe he should work on a new gadget to wow the world with? He munched thoughtfully on his toast, thinking of all the possibilities, when it hit him. He'd make a movie. Not just any movie, though, one with pirates. One that was better than the Disney movies even!

He grinned to himself, proud of his decision, and chugged what was left of his orange juice. Maybe Estonia would be up for another joint project. After the epic ending he'd given to his movie, how could Estonia say no?

America whistled a tune as he did the dishes and made a mental tally of all the things he was going to need for his movie. Seychelles wouldn't mind loaning out her islands for some on site filming and he was certain that Japan would agree to be his cameraman. Maybe he'd throw in a samurai or two to lure him in.

He checked his watch and decided it was still early enough that Japan would be awake if he tried to call him. He whipped out his cellphone (with its McDonald's jingle ringtone) and selected Japan's name from the address book.

"Hello, Japan speaking," came Japan's calm voice on the line.

"Japan! Buddy! Hey, listen, I've got an amazing idea for a movie and I need your help to make it happen!" America prattled off excitedly and waved to Tony, who seemed to have made a new friend he was taking into that big metal house of his.

There was a pause and then finally a hesitant voice replied, "a movie, America-san? May I ask what it's about?"

"Pirates! There could be samurais, too, if you want," America declared proudly. Japan would be impressed no doubt.

"Ah, if it's pirates, shouldn't you ask England-san?"

"Eh? England? Why him?" America frowned. Sure, he loved England, but the older nation hated his movies. As for pirates, England was so stuffy he probably didn't know the first thing about pirates, except maybe that he'd sent his fleets to sink their ships way back when.

"England-san has quite a bit of experience in that area, if I recall. I would recommend consulting him first," Japan stated, his voice even and calm all the while. It still amazed America that he could do that so easily.

"Well…all right, if you say so. But hey, you'll still be my cameraman, won't you?"

There was another pause. "…if that's what you wish, America-san."

"Great! I'll call you with all the details then! Thanks, Japan!"

"My pleasure, America-san. Until your call then."

"Bye bye!"

America slid his phone shut and frowned. He really didn't want to involve England in his awesome movie project when all he'd do was insult him every step of the way, but then again he hadn't personally made a movie since they'd gotten together, so maybe England would have a little more tact.

He pursed his lips and stared at England's entry in his address book. If nothing else, he could get some pirate information out of him, at least. And since it was going to be such an awesome day, there was no way his plan would be ruined. He selected England's number and put the phone to his ear.

"England? Yeah, I'd really like to see you…"

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All right, so he probably should have told England the real reason he wanted him to travel all the way to America, but he probably wouldn't have made the trip if he knew the truth, and America wanted to see him anyway, movie or not. He could only score on a day full of so much potential.

He opted to meet England at the airport, after spending the time in between coaxing Seychelles and Estonia into cooperating, and he bounced on his heels while he waited for the plane to land. He watched with great affection the reunions going on around him, and faintly wondered if he shouldn't tackle England like that sometime.

He almost wanted to when he spotted enormous eyebrows making their way through the crowd towards him, and the green eyes they perched above lit up with warmth at the sight of their beloved, but he settled for waving at the Briton and running to meet him.

"Manchester, England Englaaaaand," America crooned and planted a kiss on England's cheek. "Across the Atlantic sea!"

"Oh hell, you haven't been watching Hair again, have you?" England moaned and pushed past America out of the way of the crowds. So much for a heartwarming reunion.

"Well, no, but…" America frowned and jogged to catch up with the older nation. He ran in front of him and put his hands on his hips. "Hey, what's wrong with Hair?"

"I'm glad you outgrew that phase, let's just say that," he held up a hand to stop America from saying anything in response, and spoke up quickly as America's frown deepened. "So why exactly did you call me over here?"

"I can't just want to see my lover?" The look England gave him said he didn't believe that tripe for a moment. Oh well. "All right, all right. I was going to make a movie about pirates and since you're like a million years old, I figured you knew some real pirates and could help me with my movie!"

"A movie." America nodded enthusiastically. "You made me fly all the way to New York for a movie."

"Well, I really did want to see you, too." America lowered his head, smiling slightly and peering at England through his eyelashes in a way that usually turned the Englishman to mush.

England coughing into his fist and the dusting of crimson on his cheeks told America that it had worked again, and his smile widened.

"Well, I'll admit I wanted to see you, as well, but I did not have the time or money to fly here for a movie!"

"But you did just to see me, eh?" America asked cheekily.

England sputtered and resumed defiantly walking towards the exit. "You prat! Let's get out of this airport, please!"

America laughed and followed along. "So about those pirates…"

England quickly regained his composure so he could turn and smirk at America. "Oh yes, the pirates. You realize I was once the terror of the seas and put those pathetic pirates your Disney portrayed to shame?"

America stopped dead in his tracks and stared blankly at England. "_You?_"

England also stopped and put his suitcase down as he tossed his head haughtily to the side. "That's right."

The corner of America's mouth twitched and he coughed into his hand. That high and mighty air England had about him was too much and he burst into laughter, gaining a few odd looks from other travelers.

England's face turned red and he folded his arms. "And just what do you find so hilarious, pray tell?"

"You!" America choked out as he continued to laugh. "The thought of you as a pirate! That's just…so ridiculous it's hilarious!" He clutched his stomach and wheezed slightly as his peals of laughter continued.

England dropped his arms and rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm so sorry I had the decency to act like a gentleman around my impressionable charge instead of scaring him with the truth that his caretaker was a pirate."

"Seriously, though, England. Quit yanking my chain," America gasped and wiped at his eyes.

"I _am_ being serious," England spat out in reply. America snorted and burst into laughter again. England threw his hands in the air and let out a short bitter laugh himself. "You're crazy. You're out of your bleeding mind, do you know that?"

"Me? You're the one claiming to be a pirate! That's the craziest thing I've ever heard! I knew you were lonely and delusional so you saw imaginary creatures, but a pirate?"

England gave him a cold look, picked up his suitcase and made his way towards the exit.

"England? Hey, wait up! Don't be mad, come on!" America shouted, still chuckling slightly.

England paused briefly to glare over his shoulder. "Oh, I'm most certainly angry, and the fool I was I booked my return flight for next week, so now I'm stuck in this dreadful place until then."

"What? You're going to be with me! That's not 'dreadful' at all!" America reached out to grab England's arm, which was wrenched out of his grasp.

"That won't be happening, America. I'll find a hotel, and I suggest that you leave me alone while you make yet another unnecessarily flashy movie about nothing." He pressed onwards through the doors and hailed a taxi.

"England!" His attempts to reach the island nation were thwarted by a crowd of girl scouts pushing their way through the doors on the way to their bus, and he could only watch helplessly as England climbed into the taxi and sped away. He quickly pulled out his cell and dialed England's number, though he just got his voicemail. He cursed and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

And it was supposed to be an awesome day full of possibilities, too.


	2. Step Two: Project Blame

**One Week (And Then Some)**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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**Day Two**

There are some days where you wake up and just know it's going to be one of 'those' days, a fact that could only be attributed to the absence of England's warm body next to him. The sun and the birds seemed to have abandoned him that day as well, to top it off. He glared at his alarm, which had opted to play "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" as if mocking him, and slammed the snooze button. He pulled the sheet over his head and rolled over.

It wasn't his fault England wasn't there, though. No, how could it be his fault that England was an oversensitive, prickly bastard who couldn't laugh at his own jokes? He wasn't about to apologize when he'd done nothing wrong.

He still felt a pang of remorse knowing that England should be snuggling into the crook of his neck and mumbling groggy curses while he was kissed into consciousness, and he groaned as he pulled a pillow over his head. Maybe he'd just stay in bed and mope all day, but George Michael had other plans as his voice once again blared from America's alarm. He lifted the pillow slightly to glare at the accursed device, hoping the heat of his gaze would cause it to combust, but to no avail. He sighed and threw back the covers.

"All right, all right. I'm getting up," he whined to no one in particular and literally rolled out of bed, where he stayed in a heap on the floor for a few minutes. When he finally stood, he stretched the painful kinks out of his back, put Texas on his face and miserably made his way downstairs.

The previous day he had purchased ingredients for making pancakes, intending to make England an amazing pancake breakfast, but without him there America couldn't be bothered to even make toast, so he made his way to his cereal cabinet. There, when he opened the door, were Cornelius's soulless eyes staring accusingly at him from the box of Corn Flakes he had bought for England after he complained that all of his favorite cereals were too sweet and too full of artificial colors. America stared at the box for a few moments before he shoved it out of the way and grabbed the box of Lucky Charms instead. He was going to enjoy the sugar and artificial colors guilt free, damn it.

While he munched on the cereal he turned his cellphone around in his hand and stared at England's name in the contacts list. He could probably call him and convince him to drop the whole thing and come over, but that would require him admitting to something he never did. He'd just have to wait for England to say he was sorry, that was all. He left the phone on the table and threw the empty bowl in the sink, not caring to do the dishes that day.

While he was getting dressed, the doorbell rang and a huge grin spread on his face. Well, that hadn't been long. He practically flew down the stairs, trying not to look too pleased with himself as he opened the door. He deflated instantly when he was it wasn't England at all, but some mousey blond with glasses.

"Do I know you?" America asked a bit shortly, but couldn't bring himself to care since this mysterious person had gotten his hopes up needlessly.

"Of course you do! I'm Canada!" said mysterious person exclaimed in reply.

America stared blankly at Canada for a few moments, trying to remember if he actually knew anyone like this, but drew a blank. But then, he thought, there was that guy to the north, wasn't there. With the beavers and syrup and stuff. "Oh yeah yeah. Canada. Hey. What are you doing here again?"

"You invited me here! Something about a movie you wanted to make? You called me yesterday and wouldn't shut up about it, remember?" Canada asked in exasperation.

"Oh. Did I?" He remembered calling Japan, Seychelles, Estonia and England, but not Canada. Or maybe he did. He couldn't remember. "Well, whatever. The movie plan's been cancelled due to stiff British assholes refusing to cooperate."

"You fought with England?"

"Yeah, but it was totally his fault. Why don't you come in and I'll tell you about it? S'not like there's anything better to do on a day like this," America mumbled and stepped aside so Canada could walk in.

He made a pot of coffee and sat on his couch with Canada while he recapped the events of the previous day. When he finished, he stared expectantly at his brother, waiting for the inevitable sympathy he'd receive.

Instead Canada rolled his eyes and shoved his head into his palm. "Are you really that stupid?"

"What?! How am I stupid when he's the one getting pissed off at me for not believing his crazy 'I'm a pirate' lies?"

"England _was_ a pirate, you idiot," Canada said slowly, as if trying to keep his temper under control. "I saw him a few times. He was terrifying."

"Not you, too! Has the whole world gone crazy?!" America moaned. He'd heard rumors about former piracy amidst some of the older nations, but the thought of people like England and Spain being pirates was completely ridiculous. He could see Denmark being a viking, yes, but surely there had been no pirates among his fellow nations.

Canada sighed, deciding to drop the argument about England's delinquent past. England had often forgotten about him as a child as well, and so he'd been a witness to some of the former empire's more frightening activities. "You should apologize for laughing at him."

"No way am I apologizing. He should be apologizing to me!" America said with a pout. Like hell he'd apologize to England.

"I have no idea why he puts up with you in the first place," Canada wondered aloud and took a sip of the coffee America gave him.

"Go to hell," America replied scathingly. Now that hurt. They had their problems and fought a lot, but he and England were happy together. England loved him and he loved England. Well, not that he'd ever actually _said_ that he loved him. America's brow furrowed as he realized something.

'_I love you. I don't know why, but I love you. I'm positively out of my head with it.'_

England's confession played through his head, and he remembered how his reaction had been to kiss England, rather than say that he loved him, too. For awhile England would drop an 'I love you' here or there, but stopped when it became clear that America wouldn't say it in return. He didn't need to, though! It was always heavily implied in his other actions and statements. 'I want to fuck you' or 'you're really hot' or 'you're not so bad, after all' or the like. Love was a sappy, four letter word that didn't fit in his everyday vocabulary, even if every once in awhile Hollywood would take over his thoughts and he'd be tempted to say it. He always quashed those urges. Pesky Hollywood.

"What do you plan to do then?" Canada asked cautiously, breaking America out of his thoughts.

"I'm going to wait for England to realize he's wrong and apologize, of course!" It was only a matter of time before England missed him too much and came back _begging_ for forgiveness, after all.

Canada stared at him and smiled ruefully. "You really are stupid."

"Don't speak to your awesome big brother that way!" America threw one of the pillows decorating the couch at Canada, who nearly spilled his coffee.

"Watch what you're doing!" Canada shouted and threw a pillow back at America.

America supposed it was lucky he had Canada to distract him that day, but he still kept hoping throughout the day that a knock would come on the door or England's custom ringtone ("Love Machine" by the Miracles, naturally) would sound from his phone, but both were silent.

But he could wait. He'd sooner die than crack first.


	3. Step Three: Don't Take Responsibility

**One Week (And Then Some)**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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**Day Three**

When America awoke the third day, his alarm having decided on "Always Something There to Remind Me" in that accusatory way it seemed to have adopted, he was greeted by a 'one missed call' message on his phone, plus a new voicemail alert. Both from England. He immediately snapped upright in bed, snatched his phone off its charger and eagerly dialed the voicemail number.

"Since I know you're a stubborn arse, I'll make this very easy on you," England's stodgy voice rehashed on the line. "I'll be coming over today, so kindly dress appropriately. That is, put on some pants."

America couldn't help but throw a fist in the air and shout out a "fuck yeah!" at his victory over the Englishman. He _knew_ England would be the one to cave first. So it was back to an assuredly awesome day. He sprang out of bed and looked out the window. The sun still hadn't returned, but there _was_ a mockingbird singing merrily on the windowsill.

Mockingbird. Mocking…bird. Mocking…

America frowned and opened his window to address the winged creature. "Hey there, little guy. Your song's pretty and all, but your name's making me a little uneasy. Don't rain on my parade, all right?"

The bird tilted its head, chirped and then flew away. America watched until it disappeared into some trees, then he pulled his head back inside and clapped his hands together.

"All right!" he said confidently and decided to work on his appearance before he did anything else. He took a longer shower than usual, taking care to scrub every part of his body, put on the expensive cologne France had given him (not that he'd ever tell England that, knowing he'd cease to like it if he knew its true origins), and put on carefully casual clothes. He didn't want to look _too_ eager, after all.

Once again, he didn't bother with finesse for his breakfast, just wolfed down a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and drank orange juice straight from the carton. He did take care to do the dishes, however, and then went on a rampage around the house cleaning and straightening everything that looked out of place. _Let_ England look for something to nitpick about, he wouldn't find it. America smirked to himself at how awesome he could be on such a short notice. England was truly lucky to be with him.

The doorbell rang and America nearly tore the door off its hinges in his eagerness to see England, but he quickly stopped himself. No, he had to play it cool so England wouldn't think he was the winner in their spat. He checked his expression in a nearby mirror, making sure he looked appropriately solemn, before he calmly opened the door.

"England," he said flatly to the nation standing on his doorstep.

"America," England replied equally flatly. They simply stared at each other for a few tense moments before England spoke up again. "Well, are you going to just stand there or will you let me in?"

America stepped aside and smiled goofily to himself as England entered his house. He sobered up in time to see England turn around and fold his arms.

"Well? Isn't there something you'd like to say to me?" England asked expectantly.

America closed the door and blinked at England. "Like what?"

England rolled his eyes, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "About what happened two days ago? Surely you can't be that dense."

"Hey, I'm not dense! And don't call me Shirley!" America shouted, his brow furrowing.

"Oh lord, why do I put up with this…" England groaned and slammed his palm against his face. He sighed deeply and then turned to America with that expression that said he was struggling to be patient. "I expect you'll be apologizing for your tactless behavior at the airport. I knew you'd be too stubborn to say it without any prompting from me."

"Why the hell would I apologize to you? I didn't do anything wrong! You're the prissy princess who ran off because I wouldn't believe that ridiculous pirate story."

England twitched, his face going red with suppressed anger. "Ridiculous…" he seethed, then turned his head away briefly and America could just _hear_ him counting to ten in his head. America knew what was coming next, England would wave his finger in a scolding manner and give some speech about tact. "Your lack of tact is truly amazing sometimes. Truly. And I don't mean that as a compliment, so don't try to take it as one," England lectured in that high and mighty voice he liked to use and, sure enough, there was the finger.

America snorted and then burst into laughter. "I just _knew_ you were going to do that! You're so damn predictable sometimes!"

England very visibly snapped. "Oh, that's it," he spat out viciously and started stomping towards America at a frightening pace.

America's eyes widened and he turned to run, but he wasn't fast enough, and England unceremoniously tackled him to the floor. Of all days to decide to wear shorts! The shag of the rug in his entryway roughly scraped against the exposed flesh of his knees, _burning_ him. "Ffffuck," he hissed at the pain, but he choked on the curse as England's arms went around his neck, as if trying to impersonate those wrestlers on TV. He could very easily overpower England if he wanted. It would be terrifically easy to toss the Briton off of him and free himself from the choke hold England had on him, but the chances of hurting England in the process were too high. He may be trying to kill him at that moment, but America rather liked England still and wanted to keep him around.

"England, leggo of me," he gasped and slammed his palm against the floor. "Uncle! Uncle! Uncle, damn it!"

England finally released him and straightened his tie as he caught his breath. "There now. Serves you right."

America wheezed as he crawled up off the floor into a sitting position against the wall. "Fucking-A, England. Now you _really_ owe me an apology."

England scowled. "Oh, don't you even start. I didn't do anything you didn't deserve."

"So you think I deserve to be killed? Nice, England. Nice."

"I didn't say that and you know it," England snapped as he stood up and stomped towards the door.

"Hey, wait a second! Don't leave, England! We can still-"

England laughed then. A barking, sardonic laugh that made America flinch. "When you grow up, _then_ we can try to work this out. Until then, kindly leave me alone. I'm sure even you can manage that."

America caught the briefest glimpse of a hurt look on England's face as he ripped open the door and slammed it behind him as he left. America dropped his head to his burning knees and swore under his breath. That didn't go how he'd hoped it would at all. He couldn't deny, that time, that what had happened was partially his fault. He slammed a fist into the wall and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Hopefully Japan was feeling up to listening, because America knew he'd have to rant to someone after that.


End file.
